


Off and On - Exhale & Overprotective

by run_sure_footed



Series: Before Kipo [8]
Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Berserk Rage, Blood, Body Worship, Break Up, Bruises, Confusion, Fear of Drowning, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Threat, Injury, M/M, Make Up, Mod Frogs think 'help' is a bad word, No Sex, Paranoia, Professional Jealousy, Sexual Advances, Snuggling, Touch-Starved, Vulnerability, Weird Biology, Whump, mute gang turf wars, threatening allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: Here's the next instalment of Off and On, our series of break-ups/make-ups between Harris and Jamack.
Relationships: Harris & Jamack & Kwat (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts), Harris/Jamack (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts)
Series: Before Kipo [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878325
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Off and On - Exhale & Overprotective

_Exhale_

Jamack could hardly contain himself as he walked out of the Boss’ office. He kept his composure, but he was bursting with pride and excitement. He’d been issued a bit of a promotion and he knew exactly who he wanted to celebrate with. He headed to the bar, wading through the waist-high water to their usual lily pad. Kwat and Harris were there, as they almost always were. The best thing about afternoon patrol was being able to spend a few hours at the bar before dinner. “Kwat, Harris,” he greeted them. He was grinning, sure that they would ask him about being called to see the Boss. One of the Frogs who worked at the bar brought Jamack’s usual drink without being called over, as well as two fresh drinks for the others.

Kwat and Harris exchanged discreet smiles.

“Jamack,” Harris replied, fighting to keep his face and voice perfectly level.

Kwat’s only response was a nod.

Jamack’s grin turned to a smirk. Of course they weren’t going to prompt him. Well, that wasn’t going to stop him. “I’ve got good news. For me, of course, not for either of you.”

“Really? We haven’t heard anything about that,” Harris said breezily, pointedly not looking directly at either of them. If he did, he knew he’d start laughing. The whole Pond had been abuzz with the news about Jamack’s little promotion, of course, but he and Kwat had decided to yank Jamack’s chain a little.

“That’s because no one bothers telling you anything important,” Jamack shot back.

Kwat snorted.

Harris waved a hand at her. “Or because you’re not important enough for us to hear about,” he countered.

Jamack rolled his eyes, punching Harris’ arm before taking a sip of his drink. He leaned on the lily pad a little. “Fine, if you don’t want to hear my news, then you can be the last to know about it,” he laughed.

Harris took a long, calculated sip of his drink. “Eh, we don’t have anything better to do right now. I guess you can tell us.”

“Asshole,” Jamack chuckled, grinning at him. “I have an appointment with the perfumer tomorrow.” Mod Frogs were all expected to wear some kind of cologne or perfume, but after they proved themselves to be valuable enough, they were given the gift of their own personalized scent. It was a huge point of pride amongst the Frogs.

Kwat already knew this, of course. She was proud of her friend—though, naturally, she would never say so out loud. She gave him a hearty clap on the back instead, seeing if she could make him spill his drink.

Jamack did spill some of his drink. He shook his head at Kwat, but took her rather painful affection in stride. Well, it wasn’t like they weren’t drinking anyway—at least some of it would likely just get absorbed into their skin along with the water they were standing in. Still, what a waste.

For a moment, Harris was worried he’d croak with jealousy. Jamack was getting his own cologne? He knew better than most that life wasn’t fair or equal, but he couldn’t help his envy. “That’s great,” he said with a false smile, forcing the words out.

Harris’ expression became wooden and Jamack’s heart sank a little. He’d hoped Harris would be excited for him, proud of him, maybe. Harris’ jealousy killed a bit of the elation he’d been feeling. He hadn’t meant to make his colleague feel…bad. Shit. “I’m sure you’ll both be following in my footsteps soon enough,” he said, trying to make it sound light.

“I’m sure,” Kwat agreed, stepping on Harris’ foot under the water.

Harris scowled at her, but he could see why she’d done it. Jamack had been practically glowing when he arrived, and he was definitely looking more glum now. Harris sighed and gave a slightly less forced smile. “Well, just don’t forget about us on your way to the top,” he said, holding out his glass to clink with Jamack’s.

“As though you’d let me.” Jamack raised his glass too and all three of them clinked them together.

*

Harris was working on his tongue strength at the practice fields, alone. Jamack and Kwat were sparring in a different area.

An older Frog walked past him, so close that he bumped into him. He sniffed audibly, then laughed. “That’s a nice new cologne you’re wearing. Oh, wait. You didn’t _get_ a new cologne. That was Jamack. You just smell like him.”

Harris felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. It was a good thing he didn’t have his bat on him, or he knew he probably would have used it on the other Frog and gotten punished yet again. He watched him walk away, open-mouthed and staring. _Did_ he smell like Jamack? They patrolled together the way they always had, but of course they were doing a bit more than _patrolling_. He’d thought they were being careful, but…

He retreated to a small equipment shed and blocked the door so no one could get in. He took off his jacket and gave it a careful sniff. There was the smell of his ‘own’ cologne, the one all Frogs his age were issued, but under that… No, _over_ that. The other Frog was right. He positively reeked of Jamack’s cologne. And if someone had noticed that much, it was only a matter of time before they figured out the rest.

He had to put a stop to this before that happened.

_Overprotective_

It happened so fast Harris had no time to react—a Scooter Skunk holding a length of pipe roared past on her motorcycle. She swung it at Jamack as he landed from a jump and he went down hard, and then she was past and gone.

Jamack hit the concrete and for a moment he blacked out. He was only vaguely aware that time had passed when he opened his eyes again. One of them was swollen and only opened a little. The worst of the pain was concentrated in his hip and thigh where he’d been hit with the pipe, but his face had hit the ground too and he could taste blood in his mouth, feel it trickling from his nostrils.

It took him a moment to understand where he was. He could only take stock of what he was feeling at first.

Harris’ world narrowed to brief glances of Jamack, lying prone on the ground, between struggling bodies and thundering bikes. He didn’t remember closing the distance between them. It felt like he had blinked and he was halfway across the block. He stood over Jamack, brandishing his bat, swinging at everyone and everything that got too close.

Jamack’s view widened slowly to include Harris, then several other Mod Frogs around them. Harris had his bat and was standing over him, swinging wildly at any Frog who dared get close enough. Most of the Mod Frogs were busy fighting, pushing the Skunks back and away from where Jamack had collapsed, but a few of them were trying to get Jamack off the ground and back to where they’d left the cars, where they’d taken the other injured Frogs. Some of them were talking to or yelling at Harris. Jamack could pick out a few different voices.

“Calm down, we’re not going to hurt him!”

“Harris, stop, we can’t pick him up!”

“The Skunks are too close for this shit, we can’t afford to do this.”

Jamack tried to say Harris’ name, but all that came out was a weak croak.

Harris’ already enormous eyes got even wider when he heard Jamack cry out feebly behind him. “Back the fuck up!” he screamed, lashing out with the bat again. He was panting hard and he needed water _badly_ , but he wouldn’t let them take him, not Jamack… Not while Harris was still alive.

[(Fan art: Harris standing over injured Jamack)](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1866109)

The Frogs stayed a safe distance away from Harris’ bat. One had already been hit, the nails tearing her suit and grazing the skin on her arm beneath it.

“Someone find Kwat,” one of the Frogs called.

Jamack tried again, taking a slow, painful inhale before speaking. “Harris.” It came out as a whisper. He managed to roll over onto his back, biting his lip to keep in any sounds of pain. Unfortunately his body found a way around that and he felt his throat inflate, another croak escaping him.

Even as shaken as he was, he knew he had to pull it together, he had to push through it and, above all, he couldn’t let Harris defend him like this. Harris totally lost his mind trying to protect him. Even though they weren’t together right now, hadn’t been for months, it was the kind of reaction that would raise suspicions.

Harris heard Jamack croak again. Jamack was directly behind him, in his only blind spot. He wanted to turn and look at him, but he couldn’t afford the distraction. The croak meant he was alive, and that was the important thing. He circled again, brandishing his bat. Harris’ arms ached from lifting it, swinging it, impacting solid flesh when he could, but the looming figure backed up. Harris grinned. That was the important thing.

One of the Frogs tried to jump in, hoping she’d be able to get close to Harris quickly enough that he wouldn’t be able to hit her out of the sky. The bat wasn’t a very useful weapon at close range.

Harris fired his tongue at her, knocking her off course. She fell heavily to one side of him, scrambling to get away from his bat.

As though Harris had given them the idea, another Frog launched his tongue at Harris, but Harris was too quick and dodged out of the way. The Frog narrowly escaped getting a few nails through his tongue, and he backed up.

Kwat parted the crowd. She waved her hand, indicating for the other Frogs to move away from Harris and Jamack and rejoin the fight, giving them some space. “I’ll deal with it.” She stood with her arms crossed over her chest until it was just the three of them. She kept an eye on Harris, but most of her attention was on Jamack, and when she finally spoke, it wasn’t to Harris. “Do you think you can stand?”

Jamack looked over at her, smiling faintly. At least now Harris wasn’t going to mutilate any of their coworkers. He took a few breaths before trying to speak. His sides hurt so much, pumping air in and out felt like fighting a tight band around his body. “Not without…” he gasped for breath again, “…help.” If any other Frog had been in earshot, he never would have said it, but he knew Kwat and Harris had his back. They’d all seen each other laid low and every time one of them needed help—as shameful as it was to admit—the other two were there.

Harris let the tip of his bat droop to the ground—partially because the wild, desperate part of his brain told him _safe_ when Kwat appeared, and partially out of sheer exhaustion.

“Harris, drop the bat. Jamack is hurt, we need to help him.”

Harris shook his head. He raised the bat again, hoping she wouldn’t see the way it trembled as his overworked muscles fought to keep it levelled at her.

She didn’t move, knowing that would only increase the pressure on Harris, fuel his adrenaline-driven reactions. “You’re putting Jamack in _danger_.” _Not to mention yourself._ He would definitely get a reprimand for this, more likely a punishment. If he really hurt another Frog, he could end up with his tie cut, or even just outright killed. “He needs a medic.”

Harris shook his head again, more forcefully this time. He charged toward her half a step, then danced back when she didn’t back down. “Have to keep him safe,” he panted.

“Am I going to hurt Jamack?”

Harris blinked. “No.”

“Put down the bat.”

He gaped at her, periodically closing his mouth to pump in air. He blinked again. The bat dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers with a hollow thud and several metallic tings as the nails struck the jagged asphalt. It was a struggle to turn his back, even on Kwat, but he dropped to his knees beside Jamack.

Jamack opened his eyes at the sound of the bat hitting concrete, startling with a twitch. He’d drifted away somehow without realizing it.

He saw Harris kneeling beside him and reached for his hand. “’m fine,” he murmured, trying to reassure Harris, not liking the fearful exhaustion he saw on his face. 

Without even checking to see if anyone else was around, Harris grabbed Jamack’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “You promise?” he asked, forgetting to whisper.

Jamack smiled at him, weakly.

Kwat picked up the bat before going to Jamack’s other side. “Help me get him up.” She could still hear the rumble of Scooter Skunk bikes, and every minute they were on the road and not with the rest of the Frogs or in the car was dangerous. If they had been in Mod Frog territory, well, maybe she would have gotten Jamack a medic where he was, she knew it was better not to move an injured Frog. But that wasn’t an option here. “Let’s get him to the car.”

Harris nodded. He was reluctant to let go of Jamack’s hand, but now that he was slowly coming back to himself he knew they needed to get out of there and that he couldn’t be seen like this. It was a struggle for him to stand, but he got to his feet and waited for Kwat to get Jamack up. He’d help however he could.

Kwat sat Jamack up, letting him adjust for a moment before picking him up entirely and putting him on his feet.

He let out a wheezing croak, grabbing her sleeve tightly as he worked through the pain of being handled. “Fuck,” he gritted out. He reached a hand out for Harris, trying to quash the helpless, needy feeling that was rapidly filling him.

Once he was on his feet his vision went white and for a long moment he couldn’t see or move. As soon as his eyesight returned, he felt like his awareness had returned with it and he was suddenly conscious of the all-out brawl not too far from them, aware of the sounds of bikes, of yelling and mutes fighting. They were lucky he’d been hit where he was, he realized. The street here was narrow and not easy to turn around in, even for a motorcycle. The Mod Frogs had pushed the Scooter Skunks back by now, almost a whole block. Motorcycles were far more maneuverable than the Mod Frogs’ preferred cars, but Frogs on their feet could hop and use their tongues to pull Skunks off their bikes, and then they were far easier to pick off. A few rode dragonflies overhead, using their speed and height to take out the enemy mutes from above.

The Mod Frog vehicles and the rest of the dragonflies were some distance from the fight. Several injured Frogs were already waiting there, far enough from the battle that they wouldn’t be easy targets.

Harris reached out and took Jamack’s hand, squeezing it again before realizing he was lucky he hadn’t been caught doing so before. He dropped it like it had burned him, clearing his throat. Obviously Jamack was mostly being held up by Kwat, but he grabbed Jamack’s other arm and helped her walk him back to the cars. He hadn’t been this close, hadn’t touched Jamack in months. He could hear Jamack wheeze every time he filled his lungs with air, feel him tense in pain. He wanted to kiss him and hold him and take care of him. It was absurd, insane, even, but he couldn’t help it.

He darted a quick, shifty look at Kwat—could she tell? Though that was less important than making sure _Jamack_ couldn’t tell. He fought to control his expression, to keep it steely. He was just a Mod Frog helping his injured colleague. Nothing strange about that. Nothing abnormal.

They limped away from the fight, Jamack held up between the two of them, breathing hard and stifling sounds of pain. His hands tightened reflexively when the pain swelled.

[(Fan art: Harris and Kwat helping Jamack)](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1866116)

The rest of the Mod Frogs were starting to disperse now as the Skunks fled, the fight over, the Mod Frogs victorious. Some of the Frogs would stay to scavenge from the blocks they’d won, set traps, mark the place as theirs. Jamack felt relief fill him. He hadn’t wanted to be taken out of battle early, and he didn’t want to have Harris and Kwat doting on him either, but if the battle was _over_ , he didn’t have to worry so much about leaving the other Frogs in danger.

They got Jamack into the car, carefully. Kwat pressed Harris into the backseat with him. “Hold him. I’ll drive.” Now that the battle was over, they could leave without being seen as deserting.

Kwat turned the car back towards the Pond, taking care to avoid bumps.

*

“You’re _sure_ you’re alright?” Harris asked as Jamack climbed out of the infirmary bed where he’d spent the past few days. He hovered in case he needed to catch Jamack, watching him carefully. He hoped Jamack couldn’t see the raw relief on his face. He hadn’t been able to see Jamack until now. He’d been too busy with his punishment for not following orders during the fight. It would have been worse, but Kwat had asserted that he’d hit his head and been confused.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jamack assured him for the third time, but he didn’t try to shoo Harris away. He was sure he’d need to lean on him eventually. Even _one_ day in the infirmary was bad, but being unable to get up and make it to his burrow on his own had meant Jamack was stuck here. He was grateful Harris had come to see him as soon as he could, seeing as it meant Harris could help him to his burrow where he could heal in private like a real Mod Frog. Kwat hadn’t visited him, which made Jamack wonder if she was trying to give him an excuse to spend time with Harris.

“Good. I’d hate to have wasted my time,” Harris muttered, looking away from him. At least he looked alright. With a clean and mended suit on, the only visible injury was his bruised eye.

Jamack sighed. “Just help me down to my burrow.”

Harris didn’t know where Jamack’s burrow was—Jamack hoped _no one_ did—and so he had to guide him. His burrow had an underwater entrance, but it was close enough to an opening in the lily pads that Harris could make it in without drowning.

“I don’t think I can climb in alone,” he admitted, softly. “If you go in first, you can pull me up.”

It was a huge admission on Jamack’s part that he needed help. The fact that he was showing Harris where he slept was _colossal_. It was an incredibly private thing, and Harris could hardly believe what he’d just heard. He had to admit he liked the thought—curling up in Jamack’s burrow with him. Holding him.

No, they weren’t like that. Not anymore. Still, he could get Jamack tucked away safely.

Or could he? He eyed the water nervously, shooting Jamack an uncertain glance.

“You can hold onto the underside of the lily pad until you hit the bank, you don’t have to swim. It’s only a few seconds underwater. Maybe ten.” Jamack slipped into the water, fighting a croak as he went down as carefully as he could. His skin drank in the water eagerly. He’d been lying on a cot in the infirmary for a few days and even with the medics misting him periodically it had dried him out a little. “I’ll show you where it is.”

Harris groaned. Of fucking course fucking Jamack would have an underwater burrow entrance! Jamack was floating there watching him, clearly trying to hide how much pain he was in. He didn’t think most Frogs would have noticed, but he knew Jamack too well. He groaned again and hopped in after Jamack, keeping a hand clenched on the lily pad. The water felt amazing against his skin, if a little too cold. He wished he could just swim the way he had as a Tadpole—or, apparently, like any other Mod Frog. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the weight of the water trying to pull him down.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on Jamack. He nodded stiffly to show he was ready.

Jamack didn’t swim, either. His thigh and hip were stiff, swollen, and painful. He tried to keep them as still as possible. He used his hands to pull himself along the thick veins on the underside of the lily pad until he got to a small entrance in the bank, just wide enough for him to pull himself up into. He moved aside to let Harris in first.

Already beginning to feel panicked from the lack of air, Harris kicked frantically past Jamack. He hardly seemed to move. He just couldn’t get the rhythm right since he’d grown legs. He grabbed a handful of dirt beside the burrow to pull himself closer, but it just crumbled in his hand. How had Jamack dug this without drowning? Right. He could breathe in the water.

With a lot of effort, Harris managed to get into the short tunnel. His heart was pounding and he kept having to fight his instinct to _breathe!_ For an awful moment Harris was worried Jamack had brought him here to die. No. They weren’t _together_ now, but Jamack wouldn’t hurt him. He had to trust that. He didn’t like trusting anything or anyone, but he had no alternatives right now.

He grimly pressed forward, not so much swimming as pulling himself along the sides of the tunnel. As Jamack had told him, the entrance wasn’t long and he soon emerged into an open area that smelled like silk and Jamack’s cologne. He couldn’t help smiling.

He turned around and reached back into the water to help pull Jamack up.

Jamack let out a pained croak as he got his legs under himself enough to crawl in. He didn’t stifle it now. No one would hear him but Harris.

Though it was dark inside—the only light came from the underwater hole in the bank—the Frogs could both see each other well and Harris got a good look at the burrow. The entrance was lined with moss, and the burrow itself was similar, soft and clean and slightly damp. There were scraps of fabric too. He knew Jamack couldn’t resist soft things.

Jamack untied and removed his shoes, pulled himself onto his comfortable pile, and groaned with relief to be in his own burrow, lying still.

Harris continued his scrutiny of the burrow. There was something brightly coloured in the corner and it took him a second to realize what it was. He shifted closer to confirm his suspicion. He held up a frog-shaped toy made of some sort of furry fabric by one of its limp arms. “What is _this_?”

Jamack laughed, but it sounded a little pained. “That’s Nice-Harris.” He rolled onto his side, leaving space beside himself, inviting Harris to join him without words. “The only red-eyed tree frog that doesn’t get mad at me,” he teased. “I found it when I was looking for those books about you.” The plush toy had big red eyes and all of Harris’ markings, from the orange hands to the striped sides.

[(Fan art: Harris holding Nice Harris)](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1866120)

“Mm-hmm.” Harris shook his head, but he couldn’t help smiling slightly. He hesitated a moment, then joined Jamack on his nest. He needed—wanted—to assure himself that Jamack _was_ really alright, feel his solid body against his own. He wanted to be naked, but that was too much. He would have to be content with this.

Jamack slid an arm under Harris’ head, his other arm wrapping around his waist. He’d missed this. He untucked Harris’ shirt, sliding his hand up underneath to feel his bare skin.

Harris shivered, jolted like he’d been electrocuted, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted this or if he was simply frozen in place, but it didn’t matter. It amounted to the same thing. And Jamack was touching him.

“You weren’t really hit on the head like Kwat told everyone, were you?” Jamack asked. Now that he’d gotten to touch Harris, he wanted more. He pulled his hand back and started unbuttoning his jacket and shirt.

“ _What?_ Why would you ask that?” Harris lay still, passively letting Jamack undress him. He was afraid that if he moved he wouldn’t stop until they were fucking.

That, or jump down the tunnel and escape.

“You didn’t seem hurt.” Jamack got Harris naked from the waist up before starting to undo his own clothing, hissing with pain as he tried to get out of his jacket. “You just _lost_ it.”

Harris huffed impatiently, shifting them both so he could undo Jamack’s buttons. “Why would you say that? Not like you remember,” he scoffed, pleasantly surprised how level his voice sounded.

Jamack let Harris undress him, focusing instead on Harris’ pants, though he was only able to get them down a few inches once he’d unbuttoned them. His hands wandered Harris’ soft skin worshipfully, touching him like he was something divine. “Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice shaking as Harris’ hands touched his bare skin in return.

With Jamack’s clothing off, Harris could see the dark bruises where the pipe had hit him, the scrapes and bruising where he’d smacked into the concrete. He hissed sympathetically, lightly brushing his fingertips across the injuries. “Are you…up for this?” he asked, forcing himself to stop and draw in a breath when his body wanted to rush on. He wasn’t sure what ‘this’ was—what, exactly, he was asking—only that he had to ask _now_ or it would be too late to turn back.

_“Yes,”_ Jamack said emphatically. It had been about four months since they’d last broken up and he’d missed Harris, missed touching him, missed being touched. It seemed like every time they were apart, he forgot exactly how soft Harris was under his fingertips, how perfect his hands felt on him. He let one hand slide over the entrance to Harris’ cloaca.

Harris gave him a skeptical look. “We can do this another time,” he said softly, batting Jamack’s hand away.

“Please,” Jamack whispered, but he let Harris push him away. He hated being reduced to begging, but he desperately didn’t want to be alone either. He’d spent most of the last few days alone and sore and he didn’t want Harris to leave.

Harris sighed. “Why don’t I just stay here with you overnight?” The thought of it, saying it aloud, sent a thrill through him. “And we can talk about it in the morning.” He gently but firmly rolled Jamack onto his side, facing away from him, folding Jamack’s arms in front of him. He curled against Jamack from behind. Of course, his compromise was somewhat weakened by the fact that his erection was out, but after seeing the injuries he was seriously worried Jamack might _die_ if they did anything at all strenuous.

[(Fan art: Harris holding Jamack- nsfw-ish)](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1866103)

Jamack felt almost breathless. He hadn’t dared ask for Harris to just _stay_. That was beyond the rules of their relationship, wasn’t it? They weren’t even _in_ a relationship right now! How could Harris just offer him that, so casually?

Intimacy with Harris during sex was one thing, sex was just physical, that was all. But being held through the night? Sleeping together? That was more, that was new, that was _comfort_ , and it was terrifying. There was no excuse for it, no explanation. But it was everything he wanted and he didn’t have the strength to pretend otherwise. He caught Harris’ hand and kept it, holding it to his chest. It took a few moments before he could force out a question, his voice barely audible. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay. If it’ll keep you from killing yourself. Idiot.” Harris let him hold his hand, giving it a very gentle squeeze. He pressed his mouth to the back of Jamack’s head for an instant, then drew away.

Jamack hummed softly, an agreeable sound. Safe in his burrow, with Harris’ arm around him, it didn’t take him long to fall asleep.


End file.
